Marked
by wickeds
Summary: Stiles is frustrated over the fact that gay guys don't seem to be attracted to him. What he doesn't realize is that there's a good reason for them to stay away.
1. Chapter 1

It's really a simple fact – Derek just wants to jump Stiles. Right now, the overactive teenager is going on a tirade about not being attractive to gay guys and all Derek wants to do is push him against a wall and, well, smell him. Because Stiles smells really, _really_ good. Too good for Derek to just stand by and let him act like the ADD-crazed kid he is and _not_ want to climb him like a tree. Derek takes a deep breath, trying to calm down the raging wolf senses that are telling him to _go to Stiles_ because Stiles – whether he realizes it or not – could totally be Derek's master, which Derek thinks is actually really hot. He imagines Stiles being forceful with him, for once fighting back against all of Derek's aggression, being aggressive on his own, shoving Derek –

"Derek!" Derek looks around, startled by Stiles shouting his name in a way that isn't filled with lust or heat or anger or, well, anything except irritation. "Can you pay attention to this? I'm having a crisis!"

"Stiles, just do us all a favor, and shut up," Isaac says, shooting Stiles a peeved look. "No one cares about your sexuality crisis."

"I think it's kind of cute." Erica's smiling, trying not to laugh at Stiles' crazed expression.

"Yeah, well, whatever." Stiles looks around, trying to keep the blush from creeping up his face, but Derek can tell just by the way his pulse has started to race, the way his neck is starting to heat up in such a way that makes Derek want to put his mouth on –

"Um, earth to Derek!" Derek shakes his head, trying – and failing – to clear his head of Stiles.

"What?" he snaps.

"If you were a gay guy, would you find me attractive?" Stiles ignores the collective groan of everyone assembled in Derek's hideout, fixing his gaze on the Alpha. "Like, if we were at a club, clubbing, would you, I don't know, dance with me?"

Derek fights the image of Stiles grinding against his crotch at a club as he answers, "I can't answer that, Stiles. I'm not good with hypothetical situations."

Now it's Stiles' turn to groan (Derek tries to ignore how hot it is) like it's the most annoying thing in the world to find out you aren't attractive to people you're (supposedly) not even attracted to to begin with.

"If you're still upset about what happened at the gay bar, just admit it," Erica says.

"I'm not upset about that!" It's obvious that he is, though, and everyone knows it. "Good for Scott, getting a drink from someone. I'm cool with that." He licks his lips (Derek looks away), nodding. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine! Right?"

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Maybe you just… give something off that makes people stay away from you." He shoots Derek a look. Derek growls to make him shut up.

"You know what? Whatever. I give up. I'm never going to know." Stiles grabs his red hoodie and the keys to his Jeep, making to head out when Derek stops him with a hand on his arm. "Let me walk you out," he says.

Stiles just eyes him suspiciously before shrugging and following Derek out. When they reach the Jeep, Stiles looks down at the keys he's jangling in his hands as he says, "What did Isaac mean, when he said I give something off?" He looks up then, meeting Derek's eyes with the question. "What do I give off? Can you smell anything on me? Is it my cologne?" He twists his head so his neck his bared to the werewolf, and Derek just stares. He doesn't know what to do.

"You want me to… smell you?" Derek doesn't know if this is a godsend or a recipe for disaster.

"Yeah. Use your werewolf senses and all that." Stiles looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "You'd be able to tell, right?"

Derek sighs, looking away as if he'd find an answer in the surrounding environment before looking back at Stiles. _Here goes_, he thinks before bending over to sniff Stiles' neck.

He can't control himself, though, and within a second he's all over Stiles, gripping his wrists with one hand and cradling the back of his neck with the other as he shoves a thigh between Stiles' legs and takes a deep drag of the heady scent. A low growl comes out of the back of his throat, and it's all arousal, all attraction to the teenager who's now panting as Derek presses him up against the side of the Jeep. Derek's mouth is on Stiles' neck now, tracing the line from behind his ear to just over his collarbone, his scent driving him wild, driving him over the edge to where he can't control himself anymore, he just can't, everything around him is Stiles and the way his smell is taking over his senses, and he's so far gone that he doesn't realize he's started to wolf out until he feels more than hears the rising panic coming out of Stiles' mouth.

"Derek, um, what are you doing, exactly?" Stiles is breathless, Derek can tell, and he can also tell by the position of his thigh that Stiles isn't exactly opposed to this new closeness between them. Derek takes a step away from Stiles, panting, embarrassed to have lost control like that. He feels his claws retract as his pulse calms down, feeling Stiles' pulse as it comes down, as well. "Um. So," is all Stiles manages to say.

Derek finds he can't look at the fragile human who's still leaning against his Jeep like it's the only thing keeping him from falling down. He briefly looks up to find him staring at him like he's become some new kind of species, and it's all Derek can do to turn around and leave him be instead of finishing what he started.

* * *

Later that night Stiles is calling Derek at two in the morning and while Derek is tempted to just ignore it and roll over and keep sleeping, it's Stiles, and Derek has never – even against his better judgment – been able to ignore Stiles. "What?" he growls sleepily into the receiver.

"Whoa, are you like, sleeping, or something?" Stiles is drunk. Great.

"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek's sitting up now, wishing he had just rolled over and gone back to sleep.

"'Cause I thought you would be doing werewolf shit," Stiles slurs. "Don't you have like, werewolf stuff at night?"

"Where are you?" Derek hoped Stiles wasn't thinking he would be driving like this. "I'm picking you up."

"Sorry, honey, but this body is not for sale." Stiles laughs, and Derek stifles a groan of frustration. "Actually," Stiles begins, "I'll give you a discount, since I think you're cute." He giggles.

Deep breath. "Stiles, seriously, where are you? I'm not letting you drive yourself home."

"I'm at…" He pauses, breathing heavily into the phone as he tries to figure out where he is. "I'm at that bar. The gay one."

Derek closes his eyes, trying to stay calm. "I'll be there in five minutes."

* * *

Stiles is a _mess_. Once Derek pulls up in his car, Stiles is motioning for him to roll down his window, giggling as he does so. Derek complies, if only out of curiosity. "What?" he snaps. Stiles – still giggling like he's a six year-old girl – leans into the opening, propping himself up on his elbows. Derek can tell by the way his shoulders are set that he's sticking out his ass and wiggling it like he belongs on a street corner. "What'll it be then?" he slurs.

"Stiles, I'm not in the mood for this shit. Get in the car."

"Tell me about it, _stud_." Stiles tries a wink, but succeeds in only closing both eyes and not opening them for a few seconds in confusion. "I…" His head slumps, and he gets out of the window and opens the door, stumbling as he tries to slide in. He's quiet for a minute or two as Derek stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

"How did you get like this?"

"Like what?" Stiles attempts a coy expression, but only succeeds in wrinkling up his eyes.

Whacking Stiles on the head ("Ow!"), Derek asks, "How did you get so drunk?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Yes, you are. What happened?" Derek held up a hand as a threat.

"I dunno, those drag queens kept handing me things…"

Giving up, he asks, "Does your dad know where you are?"

"Dad? I told him I was having a sleepover with Scott." Stiles was staring at him glassy-eyed, unfocused, mouth hanging open wetly. "I'm not supposed to be home until… until…"

"For a while, I get it." Derek put the car into drive, taking off before Stiles has a chance to fumble with his seatbelt.

They don't talk for a few minutes. Derek focuses on driving to Stiles' house while Stiles focuses on Derek. When Derek pulls up to the curb in front of Stiles' driveway, putting the car into park, Stiles shifts and looks out the window. "Why did you go to the bar?" Derek asks softly.

"Because," Stiles' voice is soft, too, but unfocused and still slurred. "I… wanted to prove… attractive… gay…" He blinked a few times, brow furrowed in concentration. "You said I wasn't."

"What? No, I didn't."

"What was that for?" Derek had long given up on trying to figure out what Stiles was talking about. "You… when you sniffed me… you only had to sniff… I didn't…"

Derek looks down at his hands still on the steering wheel. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry?" Derek feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up, surprised to see Stiles crouching next to him. "That felt _amazing_." The declaration of mutual attraction negated somewhat by the girlish giggling now emanating from Stiles' mouth, Derek is, to say the least, a little speechless. Stiles narrows his eyes, wagging a finger at Derek. "You like me. You like my smell." Derek feels himself blush, but Stiles doesn't notice. "And I…" Derek's holding his breath now, because Stiles is edging closer and his hand is on Derek's thigh and it's sliding up and his breath is on his face and it reeks of alcohol but at the same time it's Stiles and Stiles smells good no matter what and –

"I like you, too." Stiles leans in, planting a wet kiss on Derek's stubbly cheek. "I like you a lot. You're just so _cute_." He's trying to straddle Derek now, but failing, so instead he decides to put his head in Derek's lap. He looks up, smiling cutely. "I wanna give you a blow job," he slurs, and Derek starts to panic because his hands are already at his pants, trying to peel them off as his drunk fingers trip and stumble over the fly. "Stupid pants," he mutters to himself, and while on any other occasion Derek would find this incredibly adorable and _such_ a turn-on, the fact that Stiles is drunk is making him wish he had never thought it a good idea to pick him up.

"Stiles, get off of me," he says as he tries to push him away. For being only 147 pounds, he's incredibly stubborn when he wants to be. "I don't want a blow job."

"Oh, don't be such a sourwolf," Stiles chuckles, and Derek's about to lose it when his pants are opening, Stiles' hands reaching, and he's imagining those lips on his dick and Stiles is still chortling and it's the most _amazing_ sound he's ever heard – okay, well, except for maybe the groan of want whining in the back of Stiles' throat as he tries to find his way around Derek's underwear. Derek knows he'll regret this later if he lets what's happening continue happening, though, so he puts a firm hand on Stiles' shoulder and pushes him back into a sitting position. Stiles sulks, but doesn't say anything. Quickly, before he goes back on his resolve, Derek re-does his fly and gets out of the car. "Where are you going?" Stiles shouts from inside, but Derek is around the car in a second and is dragging Stiles out of his open door before the drunk teenager even has a chance to protest. "What are you – hey!" He tries to smack Derek's ass as he's being picked up, which really isn't helping when all Derek wants is for Stiles to keep his dignity – or, at least, what's left of it.

"Come on," he says, carrying him up to the door like a groom would his bride (Derek tries not to think of that, but hey, he's only human – mostly). The whole way, Stiles is protesting that he can walk perfectly fine, that all he wants is for Derek to do that thing to him again, but Derek refuses to listen, instead reaching up to find the key he knows the Stilinskis keep hidden behind the gutter over the porch. "Hey, how did you know –" But Derek is already carrying him across the threshold (still not trying to think about weddings) and up the stairs to his room, where he dumps Stiles on his bed. "Oh, getting frisky, are we?" he giggles. Derek just rolls his eyes as he starts taking off Stiles' shoes.

By the time Stiles is undressed and tucked in, he's already fallen asleep, and Derek takes a minute to watch him and plant a kiss on his forehead before leaving through the window.

* * *

Author's Note: This is the first thing I've written in a long while, so I feel like my writing has gotten pret-ty sloppy. Anway, any comments with some constructive criticism or ideas (I don't know how long this is going to end up oh god) would surely be welcome!


	2. The Morning After

When Stiles wakes up, his head is pounding and he feels like he's going to throw up, which reminds him of the time he went deep-sea fishing with Scott the summer before freshman year and he puked over the side of the boat, helping Scott catch a shark. Stiles rolls over, groaning, feeling just as sick as he had then, his head spinning and throbbing as he thinks_ what did I do last night?_

Then he remembers, or, at least, he remembers part of it, and he blushes.

He didn't – That didn't –

_Fuck._

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fight off the crippling embarrassment coursing through his body and _I'll just die now, thanks_.

Did he really? He couldn't have. He's about to slip into an unprecedented crisis when a soft knock sends his head into a tailspin of pain. "Stiles?" It's his dad. "You up yet?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm awake."

"I'm off to the station. Remember to do your homework, okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, okay," Stiles says, irritated. Forget to do your homework _once_ and your parent treats you like you're failing – well, like you're Scott. Stiles suppresses a laugh at his own wit as he remembers why he was freaking out before his dad had knocked. Quickly, without even thinking, he calls who he always calls when he's in a panic – Derek. But before he can panic some more and hang up before Derek picks up, Derek picks up.

"Stiles? What is it now?" Derek's irritated, a sure sign that things are normal, right?

"Derek, hi," Stiles says, putting on a friendly voice. "How are you this morning?"

"If this is about last night, you probably don't want to know," Derek says tersely.

"What? I…" Stiles thinks quickly, still trying not to panic. "What?"

"Do you even remember _anything_?"

"I remember going to the club, and getting handed a vast number of alcoholic beverages from a group of drag queens," Stiles says somewhat defensively.

"So that's really what happened."

"Yeah." Stiles hopes Derek isn't going to mention anything about what happened after he was already plastered and drunk-calling the object of most of his jerking-off fantasies.

"Do you remember anything else that happened?" Was it just Stiles, or did Derek's voice definitely have a twinge of awkwardness to it? _Shit_.

"Um. Well, about that –"

"Stiles, do you or do you not remember anything that happened?"

"Um." Stiles, gulping, squeaks, "Yes?"

He hears Derek's sigh over the phone as a bunch of static crackling. "Why are you calling me?"

Stiles hangs up, knowing Derek will only call back after a few minutes of fuming and brooding. He quickly dials Scott's number, and he jumps when Alison answers. "Stiles?"

"What the hell, Alison, why are you answering–" He stops, closing his eyes and pretending he's not having the most embarrassing morning after of his life (is he allowed to call it a morning after? It's definitely a morning, well, _after_ something big) while Alison briefly laughs before handing the phone to Scott. "Stiles, what's up?"

Stiles looks to the ceiling, as if it could give him any kind of moral support. "I need you to come over. Now."

"_Now_? Stiles, can't you tell I'm –"

"Having a really romantic cuddle in bed, I'm sure," Stiles says, not caring in the least. "But I'm in the middle of a crisis, and –"

Scott laughs. Literally, _laughs_ while Stiles is about to fall into the worst panic attack to ever be recorded in the history of man. "When are you _not _having a crisis of some sort?"

"Scott, I'm _serious_, Derek sniffed me yesterday, and do you remember that gay bar? I went back, and –"

"Wait, Derek _sniffed_ you? What?"

"That's why I need you to come over!" Stiles runs a hand over his shorn hair in frustration. "I just hung up on Derek, and he's going to call back – no, scratch that, he's _calling back_, and he's probably gonna come over when I don't answer, and really, Scott, I'm going to need you when he's standing across the street from my house just _staring_ at the front door like you know he does when he's trying to get to you –"

"Stiles, okay, calm down." Stiles can hear clothing slipping over skin over the phone and tries to keep his mind off of sex and naked bodies touching and Derek. "I'll be over as fast as I can. Okay?"

Stiles takes a deep breath. "Okay. And thanks."

"No problem." Stiles hears a door closing and keys jangling. "But, seriously, Stiles, you're going to have to explain everything to me. He _sniffed_ you?"

"Yeah, well, come over first. It's very weird." They say goodbye then, and Stiles takes a moment to wallow in self-pity and wish he'd been drunk enough last night to have forgotten about the attempted blow job.

* * *

By the time Scott's ringing the doorbell, Derek is across the street. By the time Stiles is answering the door and trying to usher in his friend before he's caught, Derek is running up the driveway. "Stiles!" he shouts, but the door is shut in his face. _That was close._

Scott's wearing a confused expression on his face, likely the result of the fact that Stiles still isn't wearing any pants – he'd completely forgotten while everything else was going on. "I'll… be right back," he says, sprinting up the stairs, his socks slipping on the wood and causing him to fall halfway up. He hears Scott's laughter following him to his bedroom, and he internally curses his friend for being such a dick when Stiles is obviously in the middle of an actual crisis – not his usual kind where it's really too much Adderall talking. By the time he's downstairs again, Scott's wearing a panicked expression as Derek pounds on the door.

"Stiles! Open the door!"

Scott shoots Stiles a _what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do_ look as Stiles wonders how long it'll be before Derek actually breaks his front door in. He makes a mental note to make sure Derek pays for the damage if he does.

"Stiles!" BANG-BANG-BANG. "STILES!"

"Just let him in," Scott begs. He still has a healthy amount of fear of the new Alpha, but Stiles, despite the constant threats and head-whackings, isn't afraid, his self-preservation skills currently directed toward avoiding the worst embarrassment of his life.

"He'll tire out eventually," he says, waving a dismissive hand as the door continues to be beaten. "He can't keep it up forever… right?"

"I can, and you know it!"

Scott blanches and whispers furiously, "Just let him in, okay? Even if you don't talk about whatever it is that happened now, you'll have to eventually."

Stiles fidgets. He was hoping to avoid this, which is why he had called Scott in the first place – so he could avoid talking to Derek. "Do I have to? I was really hoping – Scott, no!"

But Scott's already twisting the knob, already opening the door by the time Stiles is on him and doing his human best to stop him from ruining his life. Derek's too quick for both of them, though, and within the space of a second all three of them are tangled in a heap just inside the Stilinski's foyer with Stiles' face near Derek's crotch for the second time in less than twelve hours.

Scott manages to wriggle free as Derek rolls over, making Stiles slide off of him and onto the floor, groaning. "You two, talk," he says, pulling Stiles to his feet while Derek manages on his own. "I don't know what happened between the two of you – part of me isn't sure I _want _to know – but no one is leaving this house until _something_ is resolved."

Stiles gulps; Derek merely scowls.

* * *

"Are you going to say anything?" They're in the kitchen now, Scott's sitting at the table, Derek's leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and Stiles is on the far side of the room, his heart like a jackhammer with the way it's about to explode out of his chest.

Stiles runs a hand over his head, fidgeting again. Derek only stares, and Stiles is pretty sure the intensity of his gaze is about to bore a hole through his head.

"We've got all day," Scott says, crossing his own arms as he looks between the two.

Stiles looks up, brows raised in a qualifying fashion. "Actually, you have until my dad pulls into the driveway in..." He checks his watch. "About seven hours."

"I think that's enough time." Derek smiles, but it's humorless, more of a threat than anything else.

Stiles looks away, unsure of where to start. He takes a deep breath and, deciding to take the Band-Aide approach, says, "I'm sorry I tried to give you a drunk blow job."

"You _what_?" Stiles and Derek ignore Scott and his bulging eyes, though, staring at each other.

Stiles then finds it extremely difficult to look at Derek as he continues. "And I'm sorry if I said anything else that I might not remember. I was pretty drunk last night."

Derek barks a laugh. "You were smashed."

"I wasn't!" Defensive now, Stiles meets Derek's amused gaze. "I only had like, five appletinis."

Scott snorts, but again, he's ignored. "Five appletinis is a lot for 147 pounds of ADD-ridden teenager." Derek's still staring at Stiles, but his eyes are softer, with… concern? No way.

"Yeah, well, when you're feeling insecure, you'll take what you can get, even if it's two drag queens who tell you they want to teach you how to put a condom on with your mouth." Scott's full-out laughing now, so Stiles shoos him out of the room with a chastising glare.

"But," he continues, turning to Derek, "what was with you when I left your hideout? I mean," he blushes, looking down at his feet to hide the smile creeping across his face, "what… what _was_ that?"

Now it's Derek's turn to look embarrassed and slightly ashamed. "I…" He looks down at his feet, too. "You smell really good, Stiles."

"I… what?"

Derek takes a deep breath. "You just… I don't know how else to put it. I like the way you smell."

"So…" Stiles purses his lips, unaware of how they're making Derek's insides squirm. "You're saying that the way I smell makes you act like you're in heat. _Are_ werewolves ever in heat? Was that a heat thing that happened?"

Derek chuckles some more. "No. No, I… It wasn't a heat thing."

"What… was it, then?" Stiles carefully edges nearer to Derek, who doesn't move as one of his hands grazes the side of the werewolf's hip. "If you weren't in heat, does that mean…?" He looks up to see Derek staring at him in a way he could never have imagined in any of his fantasies. He swallows. "Does that – does that mean –" He's losing focus as his eyes take in Derek's twitching lips, and he can smell the sweat and manliness coming off of him, and it's about to be too much when – before he even has time to process what's happening – Derek's smashing his lips against Stiles' and turning their bodies around so now it's Stiles pressed against the counter with his trembling thighs yet again parted by Derek's, and now Derek's tongue is all over the inside of his mouth, and he's groaning into Derek's low growl as he scrambles to cling to whatever part of Derek he can while he feels himself grinding his crotch into Derek's – no, scratch that, he's _riding_ his thigh, and _God, this feels amazing_. He moans louder when Derek starts sniffing him again, brushing his nose down the length of his neck, and then suddenly he's lifting Stiles onto the counter, spreading his legs farther apart as he grinds his erection into Stiles' and Stiles is pretty sure he's about to cum in his pants when a started yelp sounds from the doorway and Derek somehow manages to jump away from Stiles and out of the house while simultaneously flinging the teenager three feet across the counter, his ass landing in the sink with a _clatter_ as dishes fall and skid everywhere.

Stiles glares at Scott's sheepish form from his position in the sink. Fuming, he shouts, "Now you've really ruined it!"


End file.
